


Perestroika

by Oddport



Category: Team Fortress 2
Genre: Fluff and Angst, M/M, Multi, Polyamory
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-10-04
Updated: 2015-10-04
Packaged: 2018-04-24 17:06:09
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 18,521
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4927933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Oddport/pseuds/Oddport
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An off-handed comment about Heavy's reading habits leads to Spy finding out that the Russian has an unexpected intellectual side. The discovery... intrigues him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“We go together, _Doktor!_ ”

The Russian’s enthusiastic shout had carried far across the field. Spy looked out the window of the small hut that the BLU Sniper had, up until moments ago, been using as his vantage point to slowly pick off the RED team as they came fresh from respawn. It was a dirty trick. Which wouldn’t have bothered Spy so much if it didn’t seem that every Sniper he’d ever run across seemed to believe that they were the first to use it.

Dirty pool was fine until it was unoriginal.

Wiping the blade of his balisong on the Sniper’s shirt before dropping the corpse on to the floor to dissipate into nothingness, he watched Heavy and Medic quickly making their way toward the fighting. Quickly by Heavy standards, at any rate, with the German keeping an even pace.

For a time, Spy had been oblivious to it. Medics and Heavies by their nature tended to work together in a symbiotic way that the other classes never quite managed. Medics, while not weak, were simply more talented in other areas and so had a propensity to dying quickly if they did not take adequate precautions. Heavies, on the other hand, were generally large brutes and happy to throw themselves of rockets and other such things. There had been no reason to think that there was anything out of the normal.

But that was when a good spy could always find the best information.

It started one day in when Spy had simply been asked by Engineer to let the giant know that the new shipment of munitions had arrived. A shortage of those ridiculously expensive bullets had prevented him from effectively using his mini-gun, so the news would be welcome.

A quick rap on the door to Heavy’s quarters was quickly answered, and Spy almost raised an eyebrow when he saw the reading glasses resting on the bridge of larger man’s nose. The sight was a bizarre juxtaposition of the hulking brute that Spy was used to seeing reveling in wholesale slaughter, and intellectualism. It shouldn’t fit, but the Russian wore it naturally.

And was that a book by Pushkin being held in one massive hand?

“ _Da_?”

Well, the monosyllabic conversation was something more familiar.

“The munitions shipment is in. Engineer has almost finished his inventory, and then it will be all yours.”

“Thank you. Will be down later.”

Heavy stepped back to close the door and Spy couldn’t bring himself to resist. “I never took you for a lover of poetry, _mon ami_.” Heavy paused, as if he were processing what Spy had just said. He looked down at the book; a beautiful green leather cover embossed with the poet’s name in gold Cyrillic lettering. “Pushkin, _oui_?” The large man turned back and folded his arms over his chest, a frown on his face. “I mean no insult.” Spy continued quickly, “No Frenchman of any worth would mean it to be.”

“ _Niet_.” Heavy said slowly, cocking his head slightly to the side, “I am wondering if you speak or only read Russian.”

“ _YA govorit’ i chitat’ yego_.” Spy responded with a shrug, without skipping a beat. “The Soviets are a superpower. Knowing it is a necessity.”

Heavy made a noise and seemed to be considering this new information. “You know Pushkin as well?”

“As I said, no Frenchman of any worth would scoff at such a poet. Although, I will admit I find him slightly overrated.”

A smile crossed Heavy’s lips, and Spy saw a light in his eyes that he had never recalled seeing off the field. The look of a man ready for a fight.

Over an offhanded comment over poetry.

Interesting.

“//Then perhaps you would be willing to debate the subject? Not today, of course; I do need to take that shipment off of Engineer’s hands. Maybe this weekend? Pushkin against whomever you feel is the superior poet.//”

It took Spy a moment to respond. That had been the most eloquent thing he had ever heard the Russian say. In Russian. He had just been challenged to a poetry debate by RED’s Heavy Weapons Guy. So he said the only thing he could.

“//But of course.//”


	2. Chapter 2

A fire was burning brightly in the fireplace, holding off the bite of Coldfront’s night air. While Heavy had seemed little affected by the place since arriving two months ago, Spy had still not quite adapted. Three feet of snow and patent leather shoes had never quite agreed with each other.

It was a little surreal, Spy noted, to be sitting in his smoking room with Heavy. The large man looked conspicuously out of place on the seat he had taken on the ottoman after dismissing the wingback chairs. Had the man not been of ridiculously large proportions, Spy’s sense of hospitality might have been wounded. That, and the bottle of vodka that had been brought in the spirit of lively debate as was, apparently, the Russian custom.

Much against custom, and likely due to the welcome warmth that hours of sipping vodka had brought on, Spy was curled in his own chair with his feet drawn up beneath him. Slightly wedged into the wing of the chair, he lightly held his glass in his hand and gazed into the dancing fire.

“He did some lovely work, I concede that.” He finally got out, realizing that he had likely started to go in circles with his argument. “But his later works. They’re all…” Spy waved his hand in a vague gesture, “They’re all so rough!”

Heavy smiled as he sat on the ottoman, resting his arms on his knees while holding his own glass. Spy’s early arguments on the overall superiority of Voltaire crumbled within the first forty minutes of their exchange, crumbling much faster the third time Heavy had topped off his drink. Some of the Frenchman’s points had certainly been valid but they lacked, or rather, Spy was not in much of a condition to support them with any real argument.

“His later works corresponded to the rise of the middle class. Poets are men themselves, so it is only natural that they will write and be influenced by those who would eventually come to be the new class of influence.” Heavy took a sip and savored it for a moment. Good vodka was not something to rush. “His style simply evolved to match them. There is no sense in writing for aristocrats when the merchant is the one who will give you money for food.”

Spy swirled the last bit of his drink and took a moment to regard the Russian. Heavy had not worn those glasses tonight, so Spy took that to mean that he only needed them for reading. They had added refinement to the man’s features that Spy found he missed now that it was gone. Every broad stroke of the Heavy’s body spoke of physical prowess. The strong jaw, impossibly muscled shoulders and those massive hands that dealt so much damage that Heavy was the only one who entered hand to hand combat with just his fists. But here he was, sitting quietly on Spy’s ottoman and contemplating the fire.

“It is slightly embarrassing for a Frenchman to acknowledge defeat when it comes to literature.” He threw back the last of his drink, savoring the warmth trickling down his throat. “However, in this case I believe that I must.”

Heavy chuckled. “We’ll try this again once you’ve learned to properly drink vodka, my friend.”  

An eyebrow raised below the red line of Spy’s mask. “Glass to lips. I think I did fairly well.”

“Too much, too fast. Sip more and you’ll last longer.”

“Or perhaps we should do an equal exchange and next time try bourbon.” Spy let the faintest hint of a smile creep across his face. “Although we can continue in your mother tongue. It has been quite an eye opening night.”

“You would not be the first to think that slow speech meant that I have a slow mind.” There was a note of sadness in the Russian’s voice that Spy couldn’t miss. “I have only been learning English for the past five years. If I had started earlier, perhaps I would be as proficient as you or Medic, but I had no reason to do so. It was only when I started this work that I needed it.”

Spy leaned forward, untucking his legs. “Only five years?” The idea sounded odd to Spy. He had been in his profession for decades, and Heavy’s own reputation prior to joining RED had been formidable. And that gun, Sasha he called it, surely that was a weapon for a man of war. Heavy nodded in response. “You would not know it, _mon ami_. Your skill on the field is impressive.”

“That was necessity. A man will do what is needed to protect what is dear to him.” The large man’s tone warned Spy away from pursuing the topic further. And he would. At least for now.

“Before, then. What did you do?”

“I was a student. It was my father’s hope that I would be the first in our family to complete university.”

“Did you?”

“I did.”

Spy’s curiosity was piqued. Nowhere in Heavy’s file had a university education been mentioned. “What did you study? Engineering? I know you built that gun of yours.”

“Ah, Sasha.” Heavy smiled; that weapon was a point of pride for him. “But no. I am self taught there. I studied Russian literature.”

“Literature?” That had not been the answer that Spy had been expecting, but it was deliciously out of left field. “That hardly seems like a practical major”

“I would not have thought a Frenchman would scoff at a classical education.” Heavy leaned forward again, mock indignation on his face. “Detailed literary analysis is an excellent exercise in critical thinking.”

There faces were close, and Spy could scent the last dregs of vodka in his glass. The face may have been that of a brute, but now that he looked, he could see the sharp intelligence behind those blue eyes. Unfolding in front of him was a mystery. A man hinting at layers of complexity that Spy had not considered before. He had to know more.

“Perhaps that is what we shall debate next.”


	3. Chapter 3

Spy flipped through the folders in the filing cabinet that was hidden behind the grandfather clock in his smoking room. Neatly filed away in alphabetical order was all of the information that he had managed to collect on over one hundred individuals over the course of his career. Most were of neutralized targets, but he kept the files for nights when he was feeling nostalgic. It was always nice to take a stroll down memory lane.

However, tonight he had a mission. Flicking through the color coded tabs, he quickly came to the information gathered on the current RED roster. Each file contained the material that had been in their official dossiers, along with his own observations and any other assorted details that he had uncovered. The Engineer had the thickest of the bunch. His life was one lived openly and, as far as mercenaries went, honestly. Confirmed date of birth, known family, and a full accounting of the Texan’s eleven PhDs. Scout was likewise known, primarily since the boy seemed incapable of ever shutting up. Demo had a less information available, but was still documented to Spy’s full satisfaction. While Soldier was a mental oddity, his history was well documented by various law enforcement and mental health institutions to where there were only a few lingering points to clear up when he had some spare time. Things became a little murky with Sniper; the bushman had made an obvious effort to conceal his past. Certainly not surprising for an assassin, but given that he had highly unusual physiology for an Australian, it was not difficult for someone with Spy’s skill to dig most of it up eventually.

Medic had been more successful. Spy knew about the medical license, which hadn’t really concerned him. That story would be told, with the doctor’s normal manic glee when speaking about anything medical, to anyone who asked about how he had entered mercenary work. The unique nature of the story had allowed him to track the German back to Dusseldorf where there had been some local news reports, but the university there had done an excellent job at keeping names out of the the papers. A fire at the university itself had destroyed several years worth of records, so there he had reached a dead end. For now.

Pyro was Spy’s enigma. The official dossier held literally nothing of value. The only information contained was an address where pay would be forwarded, but that only resulted in a series of post office boxes, dead drops and an abandoned house that was owned by the State of California. A puzzle to be sure, and one that would itch at him, but perhaps some things were truly never meant to be known.

Eventually his hand came to rest on the folder he had been searching for. Spy pulled it out and lay the contents across his desk. When he was first hired by RED Spy had, of course, broken into the corporate offices and made copies of all the dossiers. At the time, Heavy’s had seemed like that of a run-of-the-mill gun for hire. Records of prior employers, notable events during those employments, and notes on his salary requirements. Nothing in particular had stood out, other than mild surprise that the Russian had never been employed by any of the standard Communist or Marxist revolutionary groups. Conventional wisdom would lead on to believe that a Soviet Russian would be willing to aid in a ideological cause. But all that could mean was simply that Heavy was not a “true” Soviet. Life on the opposite side of the Iron Curtain was hard for the common man. To see their complete exclusion in Heavy’s dossier indicated that he was making a political point of sorts.

The dossier gave no hint as to Heavy’s real name, so it wouldn’t be so simple as sorting through dusty piles of enrollments at the back of some registrar’s office. Come to think of it, Heavy hadn’t even mentioned which university it was that he had attended. Spy drummed his fingers across the blotter paper on top of the desk. The night before, Heavy’s tone had warned against pressing much further when asked about his starting as a mercenary. Why? Family would be a logical first guess. Perhaps a sick mother? Orphaned siblings? Or maybe a child of his own?  

But nothing in the documents spread before him gave any indication of a starting point. It was almost as if the man didn’t exist before taking a job in Uruguay five years prior. Spy lit a cigarette and took a deep drag before blowing out a blue plume. His mind mulled over the few things that he could count as fact. There simply was not enough!

Sliding a few pages to the side, Spy picked up the single photograph in the file. It was the single portrait photo that had been taken on the day they all signed their contracts. Stern eyes gazed out at the viewer with no hint of the warmth that they held last night as they sat in front of the fire. Spy held his cigarette loosely between his lips as he considered the face staring back at him and traced his thumb over Heavy’s strong jawline. Normally he would not allow himself to dwell on such things when it came to his colleagues, but there was a rough handsomeness to the Russian in the image. In his own dossier Spy saw his complete torso. Heavy’s photo barely contained half of his massive shoulders. Impressive physique; perhaps that was why Medic spent so much time behind him.

A wry smile crept onto Spy’s face. If there was one person on this base who might know more, it would be the German.


	4. Chapter 4

Spy awoke to a numbness across his face. Pulling the eiderdown duvet over his head, he allowed himself a few moments in that warm cocoon to let his nose defrost before dragging himself out of bed. Sometime during the course of the night the heat must have gone out. Again.

Pausing by the radiator, Spy could hear a faint clanging echoing through the pipes, a clear indication that the Engineer was already working on the problem. Until the antique furnace was fixed, the only thing to do was bundle up and check to see if Pyro had set anything on fire. Wapping his dressing gown tightly, Spy made quick work of his morning toilet and quickly donning his suit and gloves. He pulled open his dresser and flipped through his collection of balaclavas until he found his woolen one. There was a slight scent of cedar as he pulled it on, an indication that it hadn’t been worn in some time, unsurprising given the length of time the team had been stationed in Teufort. After tucking the edges of the mask under his shirt collar, he made a final adjustment to his tie before grabbing his jacket and striding out into the hall.

He had a social call to make.

Spy found Medic tending to his doves in the corner of his surgery. One that he presumed was Archimedes was perched on the doctor’s shoulder, its pink tinged head bobbing slightly as Medic moved about the room. He was currently fiddling with an ancient looking brass space heater and adjusting its proximity to the small dovecote to his satisfaction.

“//Ah, my poor babies.//” Spy heard him make small noises of disapproval as he lit the heater. “// cold is no good for you. Archimedes, you feel practically frozen.//” Medic reached up to his shoulder and took the dove from his shoulder. He cupped the bird in both hands and pulled it to his chest.

It took Spy a moment to realize what the doctor was doing. He was warming the bird with his own body heat. With the compound currently resembling a large ice box, Medic had opted for a thick sweater over his normal shirt and vest and Archimedes seemed to snuggle into it. Medic chuckled and pet the bird before placing him back into the dovecote with the others. “//There. You all warm up and I’ll be back later with lunch.//”

The sight was rather endearing, if a bit surreal, given that this was the same man who once had been elbow deep in Spy’s chest while giggling like a madman. It was about that time when Medic turned and noticed him.

“Ah, good afternoon, Spy. What can I do for you?” He adjusted his glasses slightly from where they had slipped down his nose. “Everything feeling alright? Or have you reconsidered my offer on the gazelle lungs?”

The Frenchman shook his head. “ _Non_ , Medic. But I do have a personal, non-surgical, matter that I hope you may be able to help me with.”

“Indeed?”

“ _Oui_. It is about Heavy.”

There was a subtle shift to Medic’s expression when he mentioned the name. It was brief, just a momentary flash, but Spy caught it all the same. Interesting.

Medic crossed his arms and looked at Spy. “If I can assist, then I will be happy to.”

“What do you know of him?”

“That is a rather broad question, Spy.” Medic answered.“I presume you have all of our personal records?”

Spy nodded. “His is rather light on details. I would like to have all my files as complete as possible.”

“Then I am not certain I can help you.” Medic picked a feather from his sweater. “Heavy is a very private man.”

“But the two of you work so closely.”

“But speak of little of consequence.” Medic waved him off. “You probably have more of his life story than I. And please do not light those disgusting things in my surgery.”

Spy paused and placed the cigarettes back in his pocket under Medic’s disapproving stare. It was a disappointing start, but hardly a defeat. Those not trained to observe the minutiae of human activity could easily dismiss a vital clue as mere trivia. Perhaps all that was needed was a slightly different tact. “Then perhaps you could simply help me round out my profile.” He made his way over to the doctor’s desk and sat down in the chair. He would not be dismissed so easily. “What are these _détails sans importance_?”

A smile crept across his face as he saw resignation in Medic’s eyes. The German could be as hard headed as any man on base, but no one could outlast Spy when there was something the rogue wanted to know. “He’s happy that we’ve moved to Coldfront since it reminds him home. There are some modifications to Sasha that he is considering if he can persuade Engineer to let him borrow his workspace.”

Nothing new, but it is the type of detail was good. Medic had paused, and Spy gave a wave of his hand to encourage the man to continue.

“Well,” Medic paused and thought for a moment. “I know that he enjoys reading; although, I’m afraid I couldn’t tell you more about that. We tried discussing _Manifest der kommunistischen Parte_ once, but the language barrier made it difficult.” He gave a shrug.

“The Communist Manifesto? Seems like rather elevated reading for him.”

It was a calculated gambit. Medic’s subtle reaction earlier still had Spy’s attention, and he was curious to see the reaction.

Interestingly enough, he was met by a neutral look from the doctor, who had turned to shuffle through a stack of paperwork that was on the edge of the desk. “Heavy is an intelligent fellow. He just also happens to greatly enjoy his work.” His words were slow but deliberate, but Spy saw nerves in the mindless flipping of pages. The comment had hit some type of nerve.

“Do you play chess, _Herr Spitzel_?” Medic asked as he set down the re-ordered files and placed his hands on the desk. Spy made a mental note of the deviation from the customary spion. He really had hit a nerve somewhere.

“A little.”

“You should play a game with Heavy. Just be prepared to lose. A lot.” Spy looked up at the German with a considered look.

“Perhaps I shall, _Docteur_.” He replied as he stood and headed to the door of the infirmary. “Thank you for your time.”

Two new distractions in less than a week. How delightful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Medic will usually use "Spion" for Spy. "Spitzel" is a term for a low-class informant or snoop.


	5. Chapter 5

As it turned out, Heavy was good at chess. Quite good in fact, and just competitive enough to make sure that he didn’t beat Spy too badly. Always definitively, and by the end (of the game and the bourbon) Heavy had gently suggested that they return to a literary discussion next time. It had been a slight surprise to Spy that he found himself looking forward to their meeting that evening. Heavy had hidden depths that he knew were only starting to be revealed, and promised so much more.

Laughter echoed down the hall as Spy approached the infirmary; Heavy’s booming bass underlying Medic’s higher pitched tenor. His mouth twitched in amusement. The Russian had a warmness to his disposition that could thaw even Medic’s cool demeanor. Quite impressive for someone who likely grew up in frozen wastes. He had suspected that he would find Heavy with the doctor. The battle that day had been hard, and everyone had left the field in a poor mood. It was common knowledge that ‘lab work,’ as Medic so charmingly referred  to it, was his preferred way to cheer himself up.

He didn’t see the two in the infirmary waiting area, so slipped through the double doors leading to the surgery.

“… And that’s how I lost my medical license.” Medic laughed as he rested his elbow on Heavy’s chest. The chest which was currently cracked open with the Medi-Gun targeted focused on it.

The German didn’t appear to be doing anything in particular. From his vantage point Spy could see Heavy’s massive Über-enhanced heart steadily pumping away as Medic poked around inside the cavity. Archimedes flitted around the operating table, hopping from Medic’s head to Heavy’s shoulder and occasionally being shooed off after getting a little too close to the open rib cage.

“Is good story, _Doktor_.” Heavy chuckled, sending the dove fluttering.

Medic held out a bloody finger for Archimedes and brought the bird in for a pat on the head. “ _Ja, ja_. Nothing is quite like reminiscing on a wonderfully misspent youth.” Setting his pet aside, Medic resumed his prodding of Heavy’s internal organs. “Have I ever mentioned that you have a particularly handsome liver, Heavy?”

“I do not think so.”

“Well it is. In fact, everything here is in wonderful condition. If it were not for the need to  attach the module for the ÜberCharge, I would not even have touched your heart. You are a phenomenal physical specimen.”

“Thank you, Doktor. Is kind of you to say.”

“It is the truth, my friend.”

Spy decided that it was time to make himself known. “Then perhaps you would be so kind as to close him up, Doctor. Heavy and I have a prior commitment this evening.” Both men looked over at him, Heavy with an embarrassed smile from losing track of time, and Medic with a look that could freeze lava. “//I thought you might be here, Heavy. I know how the doctor can be after a loss.//”

Heavy looked slightly startled at Spy’s sudden switch into Russian, while Medic’s gaze turned positively venomous. Nevertheless, Medic turned up the power on the Medi-gun and the hole in Heavy’s chest started to knit back up. “Is that so?” Spy caught the sharpness that appeared in the doctor’s tone. “In that case, I would not want to keep you.”

Medic waited just long enough for the healing to be complete before switching the equipment off and turning to his sink to wash up.

“Good night, gentlemen. I shall see you in the morning.”

 

* * *

 

“Tell me, just how many times have you heard that story?” Spy lit a cigarette as they walked down the hall back to the barracks. “I should think you would be tired of it by now.”

Heavy paused, and Spy could see him making a mental tally. “Almost every time he opens me up.” He finally responded.

“And that seems to happen with alarming frequency, mon ami.”

“It makes him happy.”

“It looks like a slapstick horror show.”

The big man simply shrugged. “Medic’s a friend, and it doesn’t do any harm. Plus the Medi-Gun feels nice. It’s like a massage in a dry sauna. You should try it sometime.” It was Spy’s turn to chuckle as he just shook his head. They arrived at their destination and Spy unlocked the door to the smoking room and ushered his guest inside.

Spy busied himself at the bar cart as Heavy knelt down in front of the glowing embers in the fireplace. He added a few new logs and coaxed the flames back to life as Spy plucked a new bottle of vodka and poured them both a drink. He handed Heavy his glass, and both men settled into their now usual seats. They sat in a comfortable silence for a few minutes as the fire slowly warmed from the outside and the alcohol from the inside.

“You are a good friend to him, you know.” Spy finally broke the silence. “Indulging in his… research? Not many people would encourage that.”

Heavy was quiet for a moment as he gazed into the fire. The moment stretched until Spy wondered if he had stepped across some unknown line. “He was the only one who bothered to try and speak with me when I was first hired.” Heavy finally replied. “I think he understood what it was like to not be able to communicate. It was difficult, though. My English was even worse then.”

“He helped you learn, then?”

“He tried to, yes, but he quickly realized that he was not the right temperament to teach. If he cannot quickly solve a problem, he becomes frustrated.” Heavy took a sip of his drink. “He apologized profusely, and we eventually settled into our own type of communication. Medic tells me the same story time and time again, I listen, and we laugh. It is not as intellectually stimulating as this,” he gestured towards Spy, “but it is comfortable and there is friendship there.”

Quiet settled back over the room as Spy contemplated this new information. He had come to RED after Heavy, so hadn’t been aware of the Russian’s first days. Germans and Russians both tended to be greeted with some suspicion in America, so it made since that Medic would have seen a kindred spirit in the man. But he thought back to the earlier encounter in the surgery and somehow doubted that was the reaction of pure friendship.

“But even then,” Spy leaned forward with a smile, “is it necessary to let the bird get so close?” Reaching out with one gloved hand, he plucked a white feather from Heavy’s shoulder. “It seems like it would be unsanitary.” Spy held the feather out toward the man until he took it from him.

“I grew up in Siberia. If a little bird killed me, I would be a very poor Russian.” As Heavy rolled the feather with his fingers, Spy was suddenly struck with how large the man’s hands were. “Archimedes is almost like child to him.”

Spy settled back into his chair. “It can be strange who people attach such such feelings to, particularly men in our field of work. There are men who seem to grow close to no one, and others who create bonds that are perhaps stronger than that of family.”

“'The blood of the covenant is thicker than the water of the womb.‘” Heavy murmured as he seemed to be contemplating the small feather in his hand.

“So different from wooing a sweetheart.” Spy mused as he slowly swirled his glass. “The human heart is an amazing thing beyond its simple biologic purpose. It’s capacity for so many loves in a single life…”

“Is there one back in France?” Heavy suddenly asked. “A sweetheart?”

Spy hadn’t anticipated the question, and it was a strange feeling to being the one being asked instead of doing the asking. But Medic had said that Heavy was a private man. Sometimes secrets were only bartered for with other secrets. “No, not in France. But, there is one that perhaps I will return to one day.”

“What is she like?”

The memory of her was still as vivid in his mind as when he had last seen her. “Beautiful. Hair as black as a raven’s wing, skin soft as silk but with a will of iron.” God, that sounded maudlin.

“You are quite poetic in Russian.”

“You should hear me in French.”

“I wouldn’t understand a word.” Heavy laughed softly.

“No, I suppose not. But,” Spy leaned back in towards the other man, “I assure you it would be phenomenally romantic. If not, I would be a very poor Frenchman.”

Heavy laughed again, a real laugh that rumbled out from his barrel of chest. Spy hoped that his confession had been enough to earn something back.

“And you?”

“Do I have anyone?” Heavy paused again. Spy waited. He was becoming used to these silences. It gave him a chance to stare at those hands again. “No. There is no one in that way.”

“You’ll forgive me if I find that hard to believe.”

Heavy shrugged. “Back home, they do not seem to care for large brutish men.”

“A man who quotes Pushkin could never be called a brute.”

Heavy tipped his glass towards Spy. “I appreciate the sentiment, but people are quick to judge. Sometimes by a man’s words, but more often by appearance.”

There was a twinge in Spy’s heart at the words and the resigned sadness that he saw in Heavy’s eyes. Surely in a just world there had surely been someone.

Well, likely there was someone, but he shouldn’t have been the only one.

For the second time that night, Spy reached out to Heavy. This time he took one of those massive hands in his own and it truly was amazing the difference in size. He felt the large man stiffen, but did not let go.

“Spy?”

“Please never use that word about yourself again, Heavy.” Spy almost sighed and set down his drink to free his other hand so that he could hold Heavy’s one hand in both of his own. He felt the calluses that had built up over the years though his gloves and caressed them lightly with his own fingers. “You have strength, yes. But you are no brute.”

“Spy, I…”

Spy’s eyes flicked up to Heavy’s to see confusion but… There was something else there as well. Something familiar and hot, but there was resistance as well. Perhaps fear? Russia could be a cruel place to certain persuasions. He smiled gently and brought that hand up placed a soft kiss on its back.

“There are sometimes no need for words, mon ami.” Spy released Heavy’s hand and leaned back into his chair. “As I said, the human heart is capable of many loves in a single life.”

Heavy turned his gaze back to the fire and, a moment later Spy released a breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding when he saw a small smile cross the Russian’s face.


	6. Chapter 6

“Good night, gentlemen. I shall see you in the morning.”

Medic shoved his hands under the spigot and allowed the hot stream of water to momentarily distract him from that walking irritation of a Frenchman. Grabbing the soap, he worked it into a furious lather and the water started to run red as Heavy’s blood swirled down the drain. Behind him Medic heard the soft swish of the surgery’s doors as Heavy and Spy left the room, and all he was left with was the sound of running water and soft coos from the dovecote. Once the water ran clear, Medic slowly turned the water off and then leaned over the basin, his fingers white-knuckling the edge.

“Ten… Nine… Eight…” He counted down, muttering the words between clenched teeth. “Seven… Six… Five…” Slowly he felt his breathing even and his gip loosen on the edge of the sink. “Four… Three… Two… One.”

Medic turned around as he dried his hands, visually confirming that Heavy and Spy had indeed left for their “commitment.” Archimedes stared back at him from his perch on the Medi-gun. Sighing, Medic started shutting down the surgery for the night.

At times he still missed academia; it had always been nice to have some first year student to clean up the lab areas for a little extra money. When he had first come to RED the need to clean the surgery himself had offended his sense of dignity, but tonight he was grateful for the mindless chore. Grabbing a mop and bucket, he set to work on the mud and grime that had been tracked in by one mercenary or another over the course of the day. The physical labor helped him ignore the knot that was sitting in the pit of his stomach.

Logically he knew that the feeling was completely irrational, but Medic always held suspect the actions of a spy. Spies were, by simple definition, untrustworthy. They dealt in half-truths and subterfuge, even when they wore the same color. RED Spy in particular, always seemed to be operating on multiple levels. Every time Medic spoke to him there was the eerie impression he may have well been speaking into a recorder, with each of his words meticulously cataloged to be reviewed and neatly filed away for later.

Now that slippery mind had focused on Heavy.

After they had spoken a week ago, something had left Medic unsettled. It was a normal thing for Spy to try and find out the history of his teammates, but the details… Spy had seemed so interested in such mundane things.

And the god-damned bastard spoke Russian.

Medic dunked the mop into the bucket harder than intended, splashing water onto the floor, and attacking a particularly thick stain with vigor.

When Heavy had first arrived at Teufort he had barely spoken enough English to understand the Administrator’s commands. His first day on the field had Soldier barking orders, and Medic had watched as Heavy had listened, his expression neutral. There had been no vacant stare on that face, but rather a pair of sharp blue eyes carefully evaluating the shorter man shouting at him, and Medic felt a pang of empathy. At the sound of the starting siren Medic had lingered until the Offensive Squad made the initial rush to the first point and then quickly made his way to the Russian.

“Follow me.”

Heavy just looked at him for a moment, but then smiled and nodded and they had set off together.

They had become close after that, finding common ground in their mutual position of being a stranger in a strange land. Muddling through conversations had been difficult at first, but eventually they had created a language of their own. It was not enough to discuss much beyond the weather much to their (mostly Medic’s) frustration, but they operated with deadly efficiency in skirmishes. Over time Heavy’s English had improved and they had fallen into a comfortable routine.

Of course, it hadn’t been all in the name of fraternity.

Archimedes landed on his shoulder and Medic brought up his hand to pet the bird softly. Heavy often teased him about his doves being his children, and he was almost right. They were safe, and easy to understand. Affection to them was simply reciprocated; pleasant coos in exchange for food and the occasional head pat. So much simpler than the messy sort of affection that always resulted when another person was involved. And the current situation painfully reminded him of that fact.

Medic hadn’t noticed the precise moment that Heavy had started to mean more to him. It may have been when the man offered to be his inaugural subject for the ÜberCharge, laughing with him as he conferred temporary immortality in the form of an augmented mega-baboon heart. Or it could have been the first time he had heard “We go together, _Doktor_!” bellowed across the field of battle. It may have even been the first time he had agreed to let Medic crack open his chest for no reason in particular, other than curiosity. No matter when it was, there had come a point when he had started to think of Heavy as “his.”

But Heavy had never given any indication that there was anything more than friendship in their time spent together. And a man could certainly have more than one friend. Especially when that one could speak to Heavy on equal terms.

It made sense, then, those mundane little details. More useful for personal, rather than professional purposes. But if it made Heavy happy, fulfilling some need that Medic simply never could…

The knot in his stomach seemed to move to constrict in his chest, and Medic suddenly felt tired.

Finally the floor was clean, and Medic picked up the bucket to dump out the murky water. After returning Archimedes to the dovecote, he locked the surgery doors behind him and wearily made his way back to the barracks. He passed Spy’s smoking room on his way, and he heard familiar laughter coming from the other side of the door.

The doctor paused for a brief moment, listening as the laughter faded into soft murmurs that he knew he wouldn’t understand, before continuing to his room.


	7. Chapter 7

Heavy added another log to the fire, sending a small spray of cinders upward as he arranged it to his satisfaction. Spy was quite content to allow him the job. The man had a lifetime of living in Siberia; if there was anyone who could tend a fire, it was him.

At any rate, Spy had more important matters to ponder at the drink cart.

The kiss had been an unintended event tonight but not, as he replayed the moment in his mind, an unpleasant one. Taking that large hand in his own had been impulsive, but after seeing that look in Heavy’s eyes… Heavy hadn’t pulled away or made light of the gesture. He simply smiled, though not without a touch of sadness. No, not quite sadness… Wistful, perhaps? Spy had started these little encounters out of curiosity, a mystery to be unraveled, not out of any desire to find something this intimate.

But now that he had, what do do?

Turning around, Spy watched Heavy as he stoked the flames. His broad shoulders blocked most of Spy’s view of the fireplace, the light highlighting the muscles under his uniform shirt. The Russian was not the type that he normally found himself drawn to, but there was something about him that Spy was finding increasingly irresistible. Maybe it was the apparent paradox of his very existence - that hulking body with the soul of a poet. Questions that he had never thought of before this instant flooded his mind. He wanted to know everything; his smell, his taste, how Heavy’s skin would feel against his own.

Between the vodka and the fire, the room was quite comfortable. Spy removed his jacket and draped it over the neglected chair that never saw use when Heavy visited. Returning to his own chair, he sat on the edge of the cushion and took a sip. Heavy returned the poker to the side of the hearth and took his own place on the ottoman, Spy catching the sideways glance that was cast his way. It was too quick to see if that heat remained, or if their momentary break had allowed it to cool.

Well, no spy was adverse to a little risk.

“Has there ever been one?” He finally asked. Heavy’s jaw clenched, obviously considering his response. The corner of Spy’s mouth twitched, the pause gave him his answer. Setting down his glass, he reached out for the third time that night, once again taking Heavy’s hand in his own. He felt a slight tremor as he held it, and looked up to find the heat still there.

“It has been a long time.” Heavy finally answered, his voice faltering a little as Spy started to stroke his thumb along the back of his hand. His eyes closed and a soft sigh escaped as his hand wrapped around Spy’s, almost seeming to take comfort in just that small touch. Pulling Heavy’s hand to him, Spy placed a kiss on those thick fingers. Slowly turning his own wrist, he prompted Heavy’s hand open and lay another on his palm.

It was Spy’s turn to sigh as Heavy slid his hand to cup his face, tracing the Frenchman’s cheek with a calloused thumb. He smelled of oil and leather with traces of smoke and sap from tending the fire. “Would you like to change that?” The words came slightly muffled as his lips brushed against Heavy’s gloves.

“I… Now?”

“If you want. Or later. Neither of us is going anywhere.” Spy nuzzled into Heavy’s palm. Strong fingers shifted against the fabric of his mask, creating an odd but pleasant sensation against his skin.  

Slipping from the chair to the ottoman, he straddled Heavy’s lap as he ran his hands up those strong arms. There was an unfamiliar shaking through them, nerves that never showed during the heat of battle that were lay bare in this quiet room by a single man.

Spy’s hands came to rest on those broad shoulders, his fingers feeling the muscle there. “I do not mean to simply get you into bed.” He pressed in to brush his lips next to Heavy’s ear. “I mean to peel back each of these layers with which you cover yourself until I find what is at your core.” Sliding his hands down until they found the bare skin of Heavy’s arms, Spy pulled himself in closer, their chests almost touching. “You fascinate me.”

He drew back to look at the other man. Heavy’s face was flushed and his pupils dilated as he swallowed and shifted in his seat. Spy sucked in a short breath at the friction.

It had been a long time for him, as well.

The momentary crack in Spy’s composure seemed to break something in Heavy, and the Frenchman smiled as he felt a large hand come to rest on his back.

“Spy,” Heavy paused, as if he didn’t quite know what he wanted to ask, “please.”

Spy brought one hand up to brush against Heavy’s face, leaning forward and pressing their lips together lightly, pulling away only slightly. “Good?”

“Very.”

A second hand found its way to Spy’s head to pull him back for another, deeper kiss. Heavy’s movements steadied as they went, long forgotten motions coming back the longer Spy pressed against him. Allowing his hands to move to more intimate areas, Spy felt along the length of Heavy’s torso, feeling the heat radiate through the thin fabric of his shirt. Tugging at the hem, he slipped his hands underneath, fingers feeling an irregularity in textures that he knew were scars.

Spy felt the moan resonate through Heavy’s body right to his groin. He was already hard, and he desperately hoped that Heavy wasn’t planning on stopping at this point. Rolling his hips, he felt Heavy’s erection pressing through his pants. “Heavy…” His voice wavered, but somehow managed to convey his need. He felt fingers at his fly, and cool air as Heavy pulled him out into his hand and gave him a few tentative strokes. The heat was electrifying, and Spy bucked into the grip. He wrapped his own hand over Heavy’s, torn between encouraging him to speed up and the knowledge that the other man was as ready as he was. “Wait.”

Heavy paused, his breathing heavy, as Spy unzipped him and pressed their erections together. The leather of his gloves couldn’t compare to the feeling of bare skin, so he pulled one off quickly with his teeth, tossing it aside before wrapping his fingers around them. A moment later Heavy’s hand was back, layered over his as they started moving.

The feeling was beautiful, slow and even as they started, but quickly speeding both of them drew close to climax. Heavy pulled Spy on top of him, digging his toes into the carpet to thrust up harder. Spy propped himself up on one arm, his face inches from Heavy as they rutted against each other. Russian was forgotten all together as Spy peppered his lover’s ears with French nothings, and it wasn’t long before Heavy came under him with a shudder, with Spy following moments later.

“ _Mon Dieu_.” Spy panted, letting his head drop against the wall of a man under him. Heavy laughed softly and stroked Spy’s back.

“Thank you.”

Spy too a few seconds to regain his Russian. “It is mutual, believe me.” He finally replied.

They lay there for a moment, Spy immensely grateful that Heavy had no objection to being his temporary bed. “If you can make it about five meters that way there is an actual bed.” He nodded towards a door at the far side of the room. “I’m afraid I’m past the age where falling asleep on the floor holds much attraction.” Heavy looked behind him and made a noise that sounded like agreement and they made their way to Spy’s bedroom.

It took only a minute to shed their clothes and then they crawled under the covers. Spy had paid for a bed bigger than standard issue, as he had always preferred room to sprawl. But now the space was comfortable rather than claustrophobic after the addition of one large Russian.

Placing one final kiss to the other man’s temple, Spy nestled himself into those strong arms. “ _Bonne nuit_ , Heavy.”


	8. Chapter 8

Spy lit a cigarette as he waited for the coffee to finish brewing. He was glad that he had brought along his coffee press when they made the move to Coldfront. The freezing temperatures always had him wanting something warm in the morning, and he had quickly found that he just could not stomach the acidic swill of which his American compatriots seemed so fond.

He wondered if Heavy took coffee in the morning.

Glancing over at the bed, he watched the other man as he slept. Heavy looked peaceful, curled up on his side around the spot Spy had been. Waking up surrounded by him had been pleasant, warm and comfortable in a way he hadn’t been in a long while. It had been years since he’d been the smaller one and, while waking intertwined around his Boston paramour was satisfying in it’s own way, there was something nice about having the weight of Heavy’s arm circling his waist.

He had always been an early riser, enjoying the quiet that the early morning hours brought. Already dressed in a fresh shirt and vest, he had tidied the smoking room and deposited his clothes from the night before into the laundry. Heavy’s clothes had been given a quick rinse where needed and set to dry on the radiator with the rest neatly folded on the footlocker at the end of the bed.

Morning was a good time to collect one’s thoughts. The night before had been quite enjoyable, if unexpected. He hadn’t intended things to go quite so far, but he certainly had no regrets. But Heavy, on the other hand…

Blowing out a blue plume of smoke, he let his head roll back to stare at the ceiling. While there had been want in Heavy’s eyes, there had also been uncertainty. And uncertainty was a breeding ground for remorse. He was still feeling out the Russian, learning his mind and needs. Last night he had needed touch, but what would he need in the light of day?

Pushing down the plunger, he poured himself a cup of coffee and left his cigarette in the ashtray before walking over to the bed. He sat on the edge of the mattress, and  pressed his lips to the top of Heavy’s head. “Good morning.” Spy murmured into his ear. The large man shifted under the sheets and blinked a few times before rolling over on to his back to look at Spy.

“Spy?”

Ah, and there it was. Spy smiled and softly ran his hand along Heavy’s arm. “None other. Did you have a good night’s sleep?”

Heavy nodded and propped himself up on his elbows, looking at the darkness outside the window. “Too short, I think. What time is it?”

“6 AM.”

Heavy lay back with a groan. “Then definitely too short.” He looked up at Spy, noting the man’s state of almost complete dress. “And too early to be dressed.”

“I am a creature of habit, Heavy. But I can offer you a cup of coffee if you are so inclined.”

“I would prefer you back in bed.”

“I am a lark, _mon ami_. Up with the sun.”

“Which has enough sense to not be up either.” Heavy’s arm slipped around Spy’s waist, pulling him closer.

Spy chuckled and let himself be drawn down to meet Heavy’s lips. The kiss was a soft and sweet thing, and he heard Heavy inhale the scent of his freshly applied cologne. Oh, it was tempting, but there were things to do before the day’s battle with BLU. After a moment he pulled away.

“I’m sorry, but duty calls and I have intelligence to review.” He got up and retrieved his coffee and cigarette. “But please feel free to linger.”

Leaving Heavy in the bedroom, Spy made his way to the desk in the smoking room. Despite their loss the previous day, Scout had managed to bring back some valuable information about the interior of BLU’s compound. A few hours of study would greatly increase his chances during his next incursion.

Spy lost himself in the intelligence spread across his desk. Engineer had decided to take advantage of Scout’s speed and fitted him with a tracker of sorts. After a battle, he would the take the device and feed it into a massive computing machine, which then produced a general outline of the path taken by Scout. Laying the outline over an aerial photograph then gave Spy a much better idea of the layout of BLU’s Coldfront compound. Yesterday he had been stymied by the opposing Engineer setting up a fierce sentry line at the front entrance. Rocky outcrops on either side had funneled him straight into the line of fire. Unpleasant, to say the least, and he desperately needed an alternate entrance. Each of Scout’s runs were marked in a different color and pattern, and tracing the line that Scout had taken after his fourth respawn, he found what he was looking for.

Rather than heading directly toward BLU, Scout had cut to the north, where there had been an old barn. If he followed Scout’s path, there appeared to be a ridge line that could be accessed by getting to the top of the building. A chancy route, to be certain, but no more so than diving headfirst into a sentry nest.

After a time, he was vaguely aware of Heavy moving around in the next room and the sound of coffee being poured. Spy wished he had planned this out a bit better. If he had thought the night would end as it had, he would have grabbed one of the coffee mugs from the kitchen. The small cups in his personal collection were certain to look like demitasse in Heavy’s hands.

A few minutes later, out of the corner of his eye, he saw Heavy came into the smoking room. The Russian made his way over to the fireplace and settled himself on the ottoman. His posture was bent, arms resting on his thighs as he sipped his coffee. The poor man was evidently still in the process of waking up.

With his new course set, Spy pulled the intelligence pages into a neat pile and locked them in his desk. Not truly secure, but he didn’t want to pull out his hidden file with Heavy in the room.

A spy should keep some secrets, after all.

He glanced up at the clock to see that an hour had gone by. In an hour Soldier would insist on having the team in their war room to go over the day’s objective and berate them for their loss the day before. The team would ignore him, as usual, and then they would each prepare for countdown. Between now and then should be breakfast. One should not go to war on an empty stomach.

The coffee cup sat on the edge of the ottoman as Spy approached, but he could see that something else was now in Heavy’s hand. A small, white feather, lightly held between his fingers. Such a little thing, but the weight of its presence could have been another person in the room. Spy watched silently, cataloging the subtle shifts in Heavy’s face as the other man seemed to contemplate questions he didn’t dare voice.

It was fascinating how two men so close to each other could be so oblivious.

“I hope the coffee was to your satisfaction. It can go a bit off if it sits too long.” He finally decided to break the silence. Heavy started, not having noticed him standing there, and Spy saw a flash of guilt in his eyes. Poor man. It was rather endearing.

“Much better than what Soldier makes.”

Spy had to agree. Soldier liked his coffee strong enough for it to stand at attention.

“It will be time for the morning brief soon. Might I suggest a detour past the kitchen? Just leave the cup. I’ll clean it later.”

Heavy got up from the ottoman and stretched. “That sounds like a good idea. Engineer should be cooking today.”

They stepped out into the hall and Spy paused to lock the door. As he placed the key back into his breast pocket, there was the sound of another door opening. Looking over, they saw Medic exiting his room. The German froze in his tracks when he saw Heavy and Spy standing in the hall. His face registered something for an instant before composing itself into a trained neutral expression.

Medic gave a curt nod, and quickly walked down the hall.  

Spy looked over at Heavy and caught the pained expression. Even missing everything else, the man knew he had somehow hurt his friend. _Mon Dieu_ , he was going to have to do something about this.


	9. Chapter 9

Well, that had gone horribly wrong.

Spy groaned as he gazed up at the gray sky above him. The snow beneath him was starting to melt and soak into his suit in a most uncomfortable way as it mingled with the warm blood he could feel oozing out from his leg. Wiggling a finger, Spy tried to determine the extent of his injuries. It was somewhat surprising that the fall hadn’t killed him, but at this point he was rather wishing it had. Respawn was a highly unpleasant experience, but it was over quickly and would at least have him out of these wet clothes.

He had taken out the BLU Sniper early in the match. The barn’s loft had been the predictable location - high and right outside the RED respawn point. To the left of the sniper’s nest, after picking around those disgusting piss filled jars, was a ladder leading to the roof and directly to the route he had outlined for himself that morning. As he dropped the Australian’s corpse, he heard Heavy bellowing outside. Allowing himself a look he saw Heavy making his way to the bottleneck entrance to BLU’s compound, Medic following closely behind.

In an odd way it was gratifying to see that the lion’s share of Medic’s anger appeared to be directed more towards him than Heavy. Or even if that wasn’t the case, at least the doctor was being a professional about the whole thing.

Spy was up the ladder quickly, flinching a little as the icy wind bit into him. The temperature was bearable at ground level, but up here suits did little to help. As he stepped away from the ladder there was a light crunch under his shoe, causing Spy to freeze in his tracks. Kneeling down, he set his fingers to the roof and felt them slide against a sheet of ice.

“ _Merde_ …” He hissed. Leaning down a little more, the lights from RED’s respawn point glinted along the length of the roof. The damned Sniper had certainly covered this approach thoroughly.

At least there was one point for originality.

Down at ground level, Engineer was manning his sentry while laying down a teleporter. A good indication that the offensive push had at least made it past the initial BLU line. Just on the other side of ridge, there were flashes of explosions and flames of fire as both teams were clashing with each other head on. Certainly no place for a spy. He had made it this far, he was committed.

Staying low, Spy carefully started across the barn roof. One foot in front of the other, pausing as each gust of wind tore into him, his eyes fixed on the ridge line that was his goal. He was almost there, painfully close, when he saw a flash of blue around the corning. Cursing his bad luck, he quickly cloaked, hoping that he hadn’t be seen.

BLU Sniper had made it back from respawn more quickly than Spy had anticipated. The bushman was kitted out for the weather, spikes strapped to the bottom of his boots, which explained how he managed the ice sheet on the roof. He stepped confidently on to the roof, moving quickly but cautiously, quite rightly suspecting that a spy was still in the area.

There was only a finite time on his cloak, and Spy didn’t feel like trying to grapple with the Sniper while his ability to maneuver was impaired. Carefully, he stepped to the side of the narrow roofline and prayed that he would be able to give the other man room to pass without being detected.

If only Sniper were not moving so infuriatingly slowly.

Spy slowly stood up to his full height and continued his own way forward. The cloak was rapidly counting down, and if he were seen this whole ordeal would be for nothing. Howling winds masked the crunching of ice beneath his feet, and the two men slowly approached each other. He held his breath as he passed Sniper, their shoulders barely missing each other on the narrow path. So close…

And then he heard the hum of his cloak falling.

A second later, he heard the sound of a gun being raised.

“Almost got past me, ya bloody spook.”

Quickly pulling his revolver, Spy spun and shot wildly, hoping to at least ruin a headshot. Through sheer good luck, he struck Sniper in the hand, causing the assassin to drop his gun mid-fire. Through sheer bad luck, the recoil of his own shot caused him to lose his balance, sending him backward onto the slope of the roof. Spy scrambled to find anything to grab, catching the building’s gutters as he hung off the edge. Although not prone to vertigo, the ground looked an uncomfortable distance away. Above him was a heavy clump-clump-clump, and he found himself looking up at a grinning Sniper.

“Gonna be a rough landing. Should be quick, though.” One of those spiked boots lifted, to come crashing down onto his hand. Spy bit back a scream, refusing to give Sniper the satisfaction. The boot raised up again. Taking a deep breath, Spy let go.

He didn’t remember much after that. When his eyes opened, he quickly realized that he wasn’t in respawn; he hurt too much. There was a savage pain just above his knee, and when he looked, was not terribly surprised to see part of his femur sticking out. From his position, the roofline was clear. Sniper evidently satisfied that the fall would be enough to remove Spy as a concern.

Even a stopped clock was right twice a day.

Everything else seemed to be more or less in one piece, although thoroughly battered and bruised. His leg was bleeding out in pulsating spurts. A nicked artery. He would be in respawn eventually. It would just be a rather excruciating wait.

He was vaguely aware of voices in the distance. Rolling his head to the side, he saw Heavy rushing towards him, Medic’s white coat flickering along behind. He tried to warn them about the Sniper, but he couldn’t get any sound to leave his throat. There was a sudden crack, and Spy saw Medic stumble to the side from the impact. A gloved hand touched the ground and the German continued forward, a stream of red mist behind him. The shot had hit the side of the Medi-Pack, and Spy wasn’t sure whether to laugh or cry.

Both slid to a stop at Spy’s side, momentarily safe from Sniper’s direct view. Medic swung the Medi-Pack off a shoulder and inspected the damage. A few choice words escaped the doctor and he pulled it back on before turning his attention to his patient. “Dare I ask how this happened?”

“There’s a sniper on the roof.” He more wheezed the words than said them.

Medic’s hands were surprisingly gentle as they quickly felt along his body searching for injuries, although the lack of sensation was mildly alarming. Pulling off his gloves, Medic lay his hands on Spy’s face, the only unexposed area on his body. They were wonderfully warm. “Heavy,” Medic pulled his gloves back on, “get him out of the snow as much as you can without moving his leg.”

“ _Da_.” Heavy slipped his hands under Spy’s back and gently maneuvered him into a sitting position.

Digging into a pouch on his belt, Medic pulled out a length of gauze and pressed it onto the wound. He grabbed one of Heavy’s hands and placed it over the gauze. “Even pressure to control the bleeding.” He directed. “I’m going to try to fix the Medi-Gun.” He dropped the Medi-Gun from his back before pausing and looking over at Spy and Heavy. “He’s hypothermic. Too cold. Body heat should help.”

Being pressed into Heavy’s chest should have been more enjoyable, but the current lack of functioning nerve endings was placing a distinct damper on the proceedings. Spy watched as Medic fiddled with the Medi-Pack, pulling tubes and adjusting flow valves, trying to stem the leaking red mist.

The mere proximity of the mist seemed to be helping in some small measure, Spy felt a tingling feeling as the bruises he knew had to be covering his body slowly started to heal. He off-handedly wondered if this was how Medic could continuously heal himself during skirmishes. A mystery for another time.

Finally the stream of mist was down to a trickle, and Medic seemed satisfied enough to strap the contraption back on. Aiming the nozzle at Spy’s leg, he turned it on and a warm stream of red washed over the injured man. It did feel rather like a massage, now that Spy thought about it.

“How are you feeling?” Medic pulled the gauze away to reveal a fully healed leg.

Spy flexed the leg, feeling a mild stiffness, but no other ill effects. “Much better. Thank you, _Docteur_.” Medic gave a nod and got back to his feet. He reattached the Medi-Pack’s nozzle to its clip and offered Spy a hand.

An offer of a truce, perhaps?

Once Spy was back on his feet, he took a moment to examine himself. His suit was still soaking wet, but that was easy enough to fix at the resupply point. “I think I will perhaps forgo that route for the remainder of the day.”

“Or at the very least perhaps dress a bit more appropriately if you decide to play in the snow.”

Spy looked over Medic. There was no bite in his words. The man seemed… worn. He was about to say something, when he suddenly found himself nose to nose with the startled German, his own back slamming into the wall of the barn with one of Heavy’s arms on either side of them. A second later a shot rang out, Heavy grunting as a round from the Sniper’s rifle hit his flak jacket.

“Heavy!” They both moved in unison, Spy pulling Heavy under the small overhang that was obscuring them from the Sniper’s line of sight, and Medic pulling out the Medi-Gun to tend to the wound.

“Is nothing.” Heavy growled, even as his shoulder slumped and a small patch of red swelled up. Spy and Medic looked at each other.

“You take care of Heavy. I will take care of our friend in the barn.” Medic nodded and turned back to his new patient.

Spy flipped out his butterfly knife. He had a revenge kill to make.

 

* * *

 

“Was good fight today, _Doktor_!”

A large hand landed on Medic’s shoulder, almost knocking off his glasses with its enthusiasm. He couldn’t help but smile. After the last few days it had felt good to be back by Heavy’s side for a winning match. And the large man’s enthusiasm was almost infectious. Almost.

“ _Ja_ , good fight, _meine freunde_.”

Heavy set Sasha down on her rest and Medic was suddenly aware that the larger man was looking at him with a worried look on his face.

“ _Doktor_. It is about Spy…”

Medic quickly brought up his hands. “ _Nein, nein_. Heavy, it is none of my concern. In fact, it is a good thing!” He forced what he hoped wasn’t too fake a smile on his face. “You have a chance to speak with someone properly, and I would be a horrible friend to be upset about it. I’d just become so accustomed to having you about all the time, you see. Just a little period of adjustment, that’s all.”

The Russian crossed his arms and gave Medic an expression that said that it had, indeed, been too fake a smile. Medic let his shoulders slump and pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Heavy, please not now. I’m just… tired.”

It was the truth, he felt it in every inch of his body. He wanted nothing more than to go back to his room and sleep until summer. Maybe by then he would stop feeling like he was living a continual heart attack.

“ _Pomnite, ya vsegda nakhozhus’ ryadom s vami_.*”

“ _Vas_?”

Heavy was looking at him intently, and Medic found himself wishing for the millionth time that he understood a word of the man’s native tongue. After a minute of just looking at each other, Heavy reached out and pulled Medic towards him, wrapping him in his arms. Medic tensed for a moment before allowing himself to relax. It was perfectly natural to comfort a friend, after all. And he supposed that he could learn to live with this new situation if he could just have this, just for now.

They stood there, still and quiet in the locker room. Finally, Medic pulled away, but this time with a genuine smile on his face.

“ _Danke_ , Heavy.”

A pair of blue eyes watched from the hall. Casually checking his cloak timer, he smiled and headed toward his room.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> * “Remember I am always beside you.”


	10. Chapter 10

Spy was unaccustomed to knocking. Ergo, when he found the door to Heavy’s room unlocked, he simply let himself in.

The red light of evening cast long shadows across the room, a lovely environment to sneak about in if he were so inclined. Spy’s intrusion appeared to have gone unnoticed, so the rogue leaned up against the door and allowed himself a moment to simply observe.

Heavy sat at a small, standard issue desk, with a small lamp highlighting the angles of his face brilliantly. Reading glasses alternated between resting on the bridge of his nose and being pulled off to be thoughtfully tapped against his lips. In front of him was an open notebook, a pen laid across the semi-filled pages. If it were not for his uniform shirt, he would look every inch the poet, brooding away in the snow-filled bosom of Mother Russia.

Spy hadn’t come directly; he had wanted to give Heavy some room after that moment with Medic. But he couldn’t let things go until morning. The feelings the men had for each other ran deep, even if they didn’t consciously know them for what they were, otherwise both would have thrown up their hands in frustration ages ago. For them to recognize them for what they were?

He found small part of him was terrified at the prospect.

Oddly, he wasn’t afraid of being alone. There was always Boston, after all. But Heavy had a certain, well, a certain _je ne sais quoi_ , as trite as that was. Out of the lovers that had come and gone over the years, there was a depth to him that Spy was nowhere near fully exploring. The realization had hit him with unexpected force after leaving the two in the locker room, and he found himself gripped with the need to know where they stood.  

It was rather irritating.

The sun set quickly in the mountains, and the long shadows blurred into the darkness of night. Heavy’s hand occasionally drifted toward the pen in front of him, only to pull back.

At least Spy wasn’t the only one with uncertainty.

He rapped his knuckles against the door, finally announcing his presence to the other man. Some of tightness that had wound up inside him loosened when Heavy greeted him with a smile, strained, but honest. That was encouraging. Stepping further into the room with a confidence that he didn’t necessarily feel, Spy settled himself on the footlocker pushed up against the end of Heavy’s bed.

“Have I distracted the artist at work?” He nodded at the notebook.

“No. Not tonight, at any rate.”

“Writer’s block?”

Heavy sighed and shook his head. “Sometimes it doesn’t matter the language used. If the sentiment cannot be articulated properly, the words are meaningless.”

“If only the human mind was as straightforward as one of those computing machines, hmm?” Spy leaned forward and rested his arms on his knees. “As a species, we are ridiculously complex and have a phenomenal ability to overcomplicate things for ourselves.”

He was answered by a slight nod and silence. Very Russian.

The tightness wound a little tighter.

“Spies, in particular, _oui_?”

Heavy pushed the glasses onto his forehead, rubbing his eyes. “I would agree, but for the fact that I am an equal party to this.”

Spy’s mouth twitched. At least there would be no beating around the bush. He pulled out a cigarette. “May I?” Heavy made a dismissive gesture and Spy lit up, taking a long drag to calm well-concealed nerves. Blowing out a blue cloud, they both watched it dissipate in silence.

“You care for him.”

There was no question in his voice. It was the truth, even if the more abstract notions behind the words were still up in the air. Heavy turned slightly towards the desk appeared to look at the scribbled notes in front of him. Finally, another nod was given in response.

“Do you love him?”

Part of Spy wanted to spit the words out. Juvenile, of course, part and parcel of uncertainty. But acting the jealous lover would do no good right now; he was playing a delicate game. After a few moments of no answer, Spy slid a little closer on the foot locker. He watched the question being turned over in Heavy’s mind, mulling every possible way the question could be considered. And knowing full well the way it had been meant.

“I smile when he is happy.” He started slowly, his words measured and even. “I feel his triumphs as if they were my own. To see him in pain wounds me as if it were my own heart that was struck through. To know that I had a part in causing it…”

“Sounds about right.”

Heavy turned back to look at him, almost in surprise, and Spy forced a smile.

“What do you intend to do about it?”

“What do I…?”

“The locker room was a lovely start. He seemed quite happy after.”

“Medic is a friend, Spy.” Heavy shook his head. “I do not think he would be…receptive.”

“ _Non_?” Spy almost laughed, earning him a reproachful look from the other man. “I think you might be surprised about what the good doctor is receptive.”

“And how do you know this?”

“Because it is my business to know things. To find out what makes people tick, even if they don’t know it themselves.” Spy moved to catch Heavy’s eyes. “And I see things, Heavy. I observe. And when needed, I meddle.”

“Meddling.” Heavy’s brows knit into a frown and he leaned in, closing the distance between them to inches. “Is that what this has been?”

Carefully, Spy reached out his hand, laying it to Heavy’s cheek. To the man’s credit, he didn’t pull away. “No. This was… an unexpected surprise. You do fascinate me, Heavy. I meant that when I first said it, and I mean it now. And the more I have seen of you, the more I find myself drawn to you.” There was tension thrumming under his hand, a reminder of the power just under the surface. “Your contradictions, your strength. A student of literature in the middle of this god-forsaken country. You have me utterly smitten.”

“Yet you push me toward Medic.”

“Because you love him.”

Heavy sank forward, his hand coming up to cover Spy’s. “And what would you feel if I did? If you are correct about Medic, I ended this between us?”

“You say that as if it were the only choice.”

“What other choice is there?” He looked up and Spy could see the conflict in his eyes. “This time with you has been freeing in a way I cannot express in words. To be able to speak my thoughts and be understood; to listen without having to hear the words you would use with a child. To lose that, to lose you…”

Spy could only imagine the thoughts running through the other man’s head. That beautiful mind trapped for so long by the limitation of language. He could only imagine the isolation Heavy must have felt for years.  

“The human heart is capable of many loves, Heavy.” Spy finally murmured as he brushed his finger over Heavy’s cheek. “It is just a question of if we allow it of ourselves.”

“You have said that before.”

“Yes. We were talking of sweethearts.”

“And you can love two people equally?”

It was heartbreaking how much hope was wrapped into that question. Oh, how to make this come out right.

“No. That would imply that you love people identically, which is impossible. But, you can love two people in their own way.” He paused, trying to collect his thoughts. He just needed Heavy to try. If everything felt apart after this, at least he would have done all he could. “It is not an easy thing to do, but…” Spy floundered for the right words. He was asking a lot of the other man, pushing him farther than he had any right to. “But I would miss this… You… terribly.”

They were still for several moments. Heavy’s hand over his own was warm and comforting in a way that it probably shouldn’t given the circumstances. They were on a razor’s edge, but Spy held himself still. Finally, Heavy straightened up, taking both of Spy’s hands in his own.

“I still do not know that Medic feels as you say.” Blue eyes closed, thinking over his words, knowing that it would be so easy to mistake them, even in his own language. “But, I think it would at least be best to find out for sure.”

Spy held his tongue.

“And, if you are right about that, perhaps we can find out what the heart is capable of.”

This time Spy let the laugh bubble to the surface, grinning unashamedly. It was the best result he could have hoped for. Heavy’s smile was tentative, but he didn’t resist as Spy brought up their hands for a kiss.

“An ÜberCharged mega-baboon heart should be capable of quite a lot.”

 


	11. Chapter 11

Heavy was an exceptional man, and Spy knew how fortunate he was.

Over the years there had been only a handful of lovers who had been open to what he was proposing to Heavy. He could count on one hand the number he’d had who had lasted. There were nights where he had relived conversations in his mind, heated words and tears, dissecting where things had gone wrong. Was he selfish, not being content to love a single person?

He had tried it once. Back when he was young and believed in the idea of soulmates. That there was a single person who could complete you, bring you balance, ah, it was romantic. The stuff of which songs were written and made poets wax lyrical.

And utterly stifling.

No one could say that they hadn’t tried, but in the end… It was why his _petit chou-fleur_ was so precious. She understood.

His footfalls echoed in the hall as he walked towards the infirmary and he mulled the plan over in his mind. For all of Heavy’s willingness to see what exactly his dear doctor was amiable to, the man was unsure of his words, and how to explain that he held feelings both for Medic and Spy. Spy could have coached him, but Medic was keen enough to hear a script when he heard it. So Spy had offered to speak with the man, to feel him out and confirm what he largely suspected.

So now here he was, standing outside of Medic’s surgery, taking the last few puffs of his cigarette before grinding it out on the floor. This was a conversation where subtlety and a deft touch was required. He opened his disguise kit and made his selection. It was a cheap maneuver, to be certain, but this was not a conversation Medic would have with Spy. With a quick adjustment to the hologram he was ready.

Sometimes the words just sounded better coming out of someone else’s mouth.

Inside the surgery he heard Medic bustling about. There was the clinking of metal on metal, likely the sound of the Medi-Gun being brought back to full repair. Spy took a breath and pushed open the doors.

There was a fluttering of wings as his entrance sent the doctor’s doves scattering into the air. Medic looked up from his workbench where he had indeed been working on his loadout. A smile crossed his face and he appeared to be in the rarest of good moods.

“Ah, Heavy, good morning!”

“Good morning, _Doktor_.” Spy returned the greeting, mimicking the Russian intonation perfectly. “Fixing Medi-Gun?”

Medic turned to look at device and nodded. “ _Ja_. That shot did a little damage, but thankfully nothing I could not repair myself.” He closed a panel on the side and put his tools away. “Engineer has his hands full keeping that furnace alive, he did not need any additional work.” He made his way over to the sink and washed the grease and oil from his hands. “So what brings you down here so early?”

Time for the first move.

“Wanted to talk. About yesterday.”

Medic slowly dried his hands, not meeting Spy’s eyes.

“You are okay?”

“I… I am fine, Heavy.” Medic answered slowly. “As I said, a little time.”

“And we are okay?”

The towel was twisted in Medic’s hands, tension appearing at the corners of his eyes.

“ _Ja_. We are okay.”

Spy tilted his head as Heavy would when thinking. Medic’s accent had thickened ever so slightly, but it was there. Those long surgeon’s fingers worrying the fabric that was twining between them. Not quite the direction he wanted to take this conversation. Perhaps drastic measures were called for?

“ _Doktor_ is tense. Would surgery help?”

Medic let out a short laugh. “It is kind of you to offer, but two times in three days?”

Spy shrugged. “If it help _Doktor_. Then I will do it.”

The other man paused, a thoughtful look on his face for a moment before it split open into a grin. “ _Ach_ , Heavy, you spoil me! One minute and I will get the theater prepared.”

Spy dropped down into the stool next to the dovecote. Dear lord, what was he doing? Medic moved quickly around the room, gathering up a line of (hopefully) sterile surgical tools next to one of those gruesome bone saws and fiddling with the large surgical Medi-Gun. There was a loud thunk as a lever was pulled and the monstrous contraption groaned into life.

 _Mon Dieu_ , he had hoped to never experience this again.

As Medic continued his preparations, Spy felt something watching him. Glancing over to his side, he found himself looking at a pair of small black eyes. There was a flutter of pink-tinged wings and Spy found himself beset by the winged rat. Shooing the bird away, he took a deep breath to settle himself. When he looked up, he found himself looking into Medic’s blue eyes, oddly clear of the manic energy he expected to see there.

“Heavy. I am ready.”

Spy had never been a fan of doctors. They poked and prodded in all sorts of ways that made his skin crawl. And that placid look on Medic’s face wasn’t helping matters. Climbing up on to the table, Spy lay back and desperately hoped that Heavy truly appreciated this.  

The surgery’s Medi-Gun was stronger than the field version, and it’s healing rays were almost a physical force pressing him down. Humming to himself, Medic ran his fingers across the implements before him before picking one up, examining it, and then placing it back on the tray.

It was killing him.

Finally Medic turned around, smiling, with that awful saw in his hand.

“Shall we begin?”

Without waiting for a response, the saw plunged downward.

The next few minutes were fuzzy, possibly to the large sudden loss of blood. All he was aware of was the hum of the Medi-Gun, and dull pressure pressing in and out of his torso.

“Oh, Heavy.” Medic’s voice sounded far away as Spy’s eyes tried focus on the shape of the face above him. “Your poor lungs. Have you been inhaling the exhaust from Sniper’s camper?”

“Uuugh…” Not his most eloquent response. There was a ringing in his ears that was fading as the Medi-Gun stabilized him, and he slowly raised his head. Medic was leaning on one elbow, utterly soaked with blood, poking around his chest cavity with the end of the bone saw. He hissed as its ragged teeth rapped against his… Was that his backbone? How did Heavy do this?

Medic continued his absent-minded humming, some quick tune that Spy couldn’t place. A few minutes more, and he brought the saw up to rest on one of his exposed ribs before looking at Spy over his glasses.

“So tell me. In all of that interest in Heavy’s file, did you forget what was in mine?”

Spy suppressed a groan and dropped his disguise. “What gave me away?”

“Besides the lungs that only a smokestack could love?” Medic snorted. “Heavy is quite fond of Archimedes. Archimedes does not appear to be fond of you.”

As if on queue, Archimedes landed on the table, pecking at what may or may not have been part of his liver. Spy scowled. The blasted bird wasn’t a dove; it was a damned stool pigeon.

For the second time in as many days, his plan had gone sideways. This was getting distressing.

“Just what were you hoping to accomplish here?”

“Honestly?”

“If you are capable of it.”

“What is your interest in Heavy?”

His question almost seemed to startle Medic. “He is a friend. I can assure you that I have no intention of intruding on… Whatever it is you have with him. But,” He leaned over the table, that manic energy back in his eyes, “should I have the slightest hint that you have in any way hurt him, you have my promise that I shall do everything within my power to make your life as miserable as possible.” The bone saw bounced lightly from rib to rib with each word, and the smile creeping back on to the doctor’s face very much implied that the threat was not an idle one.

He had made off with a man’s skeleton, after all. That was something to be considered.

“Now, if you are done wasting my time, we will conclude this little farce.”

The doctor increased the power on the Medi-Gun, and Spy felt the gap in his chest start to close. Once the healing ray was turned off, Spy slid off the table to place himself across from the other man.

“You love him, don’t you?”

Medic’s gaze hardened. “An irrelevant fact now, I should think.”

“Not at all. He loves you.”

“And yet, he is with you.” Medic planted his hands against the edge of the table. “Did you come here to gloat?”

Spy leaned over the table, putting the two men inches from each other. “I came here to try and explain things.”

“Disguised as Heavy? Brilliant plan.”

“A plan that would have been fine if I wasn’t trying to speak to psychopath who relaxes by cutting open live human beings!”

Medic’s grip on the edge of table tightened. “Armchair diagnosis, now? Which one of us is the doctor here?”

“According to your file, neither of us.”

It was a step too far. Spy saw it in Medic’s face the second the words left his lips. The doctor lunged forward, grabbing Spy by the tie and slamming his head into operating table. Spy’s ears rang and he jerked back, just in time to feel the edge of Medic’s bonesaw tear into the side of his balaclava. He kicked out, sending the operating table skidding across the blood covered floor and into Medic, knocking the wind out of him.

Without even thinking, Spy cloaked and slipped into the hall, a trail of German expletives following him as he slinked away.

 

* * *

 

“Do I want to know what happened?”

Spy looked up from the bourbon he was using to nurse his wounded pride. Heavy stood at the door to the smoking room, worry etched on his face. Not that it wasn’t well founded. Spy found himself at a rare loss for words and all he could do was return his gaze to the carpet at his feet.

“Medic is playing his violin.”

“They way you say that I’m assuming that it’s not a good thing.”

“It’s not when he plays Ysaye #2.” Spy heard the sound of Heavy’s boots as the man crossed the room. “I take it that your conversation did not go well.”

Heavy knelt in front of Spy, one hand reaching out to trace the ragged edge where the saw had torn into his balaclava. Spy was struck with a sudden desire to lean into it, to feel its warmth, but didn’t. He very well may have destroyed everything that he had so carefully tried to build in less than a day. Failure always stung, but the thought that he may have created a situation where Heavy was now forced to choose between them simply because he and Medic couldn’t be the same room was crushing.

“I blame myself for this.”

Spy jerked his head up at the words. “ _Non_! No, no, no. You haven’t done anything -”

“And that is the problem.” Heavy cut him off. “I should not have let you go today. I allowed myself to fear what could happen, and instead let it be inflicted upon the two of you.” That large hand that was so tantalizingly close rested itself along Spy’s cheek, a single finger slipping through the tear to caress the skin underneath.

“He does love you.” Spy leaned into Heavy’s palm. “I at least got that far.”

“Then it is all the more important that I not let this linger. It is not fair to either of you.” Heavy’s expression softened. “You are not hurt, are you?”

“Just my pride.” Spy murmured, enjoying the feel of that single finger under his mask. It skimmed along his cheekbone, brushing against the hair pressed around his ear, and he realized that Heavy was feeling more of his face than he had ever seen, and that fact suddenly felt so incredibly wrong.

Wrapping his hand around Heavy’s wrist, Spy pulled the larger man’s hand down to his throat. He fished the edge of the mask out from under his collar with his free hand and placed it into Heavy’s. “Please.”

Every inch of his body wanted to run. The idea of his face being so exposed running counter to every bit of his training. But Heavy had exposed so much, offered so much. This was the only thing that he felt he could offer in return. Heavy didn’t ask why, he just slowly pulled the fabric away to reveal the features underneath.

It took every bit of his resolve to keep his eyes on Heavy’s. The experience of simply being seen was just so foreign after all of these years. A hand that wasn’t his own came up and ran through his hair, a sensation he hadn’t realized that he had missed.

“Thank you.” Heavy finally broke the silence before getting back to his feet. “I am honored by your trust.”

Spy shrugged. “You deserve nothing less.” He paused, carefully choosing his next words. “You realize that he’s insane, don’t you?”

A chuckle escaped Heavy. “Medic is a man of passions.”

“An absolute loon.”

Heavy smiled. “Yes. He is indeed.”


	12. Chapter 12

The bow flew across the strings, the frantic tones matching his current mood.

Ysaye’s Sonata for Solo Violin, Opus 27, Number 2, Movement I. Obsession.

There was probably a certain irony in his selection; playing a sonata dedicated to a Frenchman when he was more inclined to wring the neck of one.

The piece was challenging, filled with sixteenth notes that he was playing with a callous disregard for the marked brisk tempo. There was a darkness to the sound, the layered themes of judgement and obsession wound into the music intensifying within the bloody walls of the surgery.

He hadn’t bothered to clean other than to rid himself of his soiled clothing and wash the blood from his hands.

Behind him, Medic heard the sound of the surgery doors being pushed open, but didn’t turn. He was in no mood for the juvenile antics of his teammates today. The bow continued across the strings, Medic increasing the pressure, harshening the sound and making the instrument scream. The expected interruption never came, and Medic continued on, finishing the final bar with a cathartic flourish.

He stood quietly then, bow hanging loosely at his side. His breathing was controlled but deep, emotion still boiling just under the surface as he considered moving to the fourth movement. The Furies sounded particularly enticing at the moment. Allegro Furioso, indeed.

“ _Doktor_.”

Medic stiffened, posture ramrod straight. “And am I actually addressing Heavy this time? Or has Spy come back to further try my patience?”  

“Spy is not here, _Doktor_. He is busy probably, fixing mask.”

“Then at least he has something useful he can be doing.”

The words were sharp, barked out as if they were on the field. His only movement was the bow tapping against his leg, slow and deliberate as he counted his breaths. As the red started to ebb from his vision, the venom that Spy had provoked remained pooled in his gut.

Why was Heavy here? Why had either of them come here? Why couldn’t they have been like every other damned pair of lovebirds and kept to themselves in their newly discovered passions? It would have at least given him a chance to rationalize things, that of course Heavy would find a home with the Frenchman. It would have given him time to be able to look at Heavy again without feeling like he had lost absolute control of his emotional state.

He had been so close; almost made peace with it.

_Not at all. He loves you._

It was too much, whatever game Spy was playing. He couldn’t keep doing this.

The bow and violin were gently pulled from his hands, and he offered no resistance. It was for the best. He had been struck with a sudden urge to smash them against his operating table, which he undoubtedly would have regretted later.

“I am sorry, _Doktor_.”

Medic sighed and held his head in his hand. “ _Nein_ , Heavy. You have nothing to apologize for.”

“I should not have let Spy come to speak with you. Should have come myself.” There was a pause. Medic waited. Heavy was searching for words, and as painful as it was, he owed the man his chance to speak. Even if Spy had told him everything that Medic had said. Even if it was only to express an offer of continued friendship, or to tell him to go to hell after trying to decapitate Spy. “I did not want you to hurt.”

God help him, he almost laughed. Or cried. Right now the line between the two seemed be terribly thin.

“There was nothing you could have done to prevent that. It was a fault in my own nature.” He finally whispered, hearing the emotion crack in his voice and hating himself for it.

“ _Doktor_ , you do not mean…”

“Engineer has been working on a rather fascinating device to replace a human hand.” The idea came suddenly, and he found it coldly comforting. “Perhaps that is the next evolution of the Über implants. Something to help me rid humanity of this messy part of ourselves.”

Medic suddenly felt his shoulders pinned under two strong hands, and was spun around to face Heavy. He opened his mouth to protest, but froze when he saw the look on the larger man’s face. A steely determination was in Heavy’s eyes, his jaw slowly working, a sign that he was trying to find the words he wanted to say. For a moment he seemed to focus on something behind Medic, but then refocused and took a deep breath.

“ _Vy predlozhili mne druzhbu, kogda ya byla odna. Dal mne domoy, kogda ya zhazhdal moyey sem'i_ .”

Medic became aware of a presence behind him; someone pressing close without touching, and a warm breath near his ear.

“//You offered me friendship when I was alone. Gave me a home when I longed for my family.//”

The words lilted in gently accented German, soft and low.

“ _V boyu vy moya ten’, nikogda ne zapinayas’, nadeyas’, chto ya budu derzhat’ vas bezopasnym. I v otvet vy sdelali menya nepobedimym_.”

Heavy’s words were slow and even, but Medic felt a passion in his voice that he had never heard in English.

“//In battle you are my shadow, never faltering, trusting that I will keep you safe. And in return, you have made me invincible.//”  

There was no doubt in his mind as to who was behind him, but he couldn’t bring himself to pull away.

“ _YA nikogda ne dumal, chto vy mogli by lyubit’ kogo-to, kak ya._ ”

“//I never thought that you would be able to love someone like me.//”

Strong arms tightened around him, pressing him even closer until their foreheads touched and Heavy’s lips were agonizingly close to his.

“ _Yesli by ya byl, ya by nikogda ne zhdal tak dolgo, chtoby rasskazat’ vam, kak sil'no ya tebya lyublyu._ ”

“//If I had, I never would have waited this long to tell you how much I love you.//”

He felt lost, heartbeat pounding in his ears and he realized that his own hands were gripping Heavy’s arms as if they were the only thing keeping him on his feet. Part of his brain shouted that he should be happy, with another screaming that there had to be an inevitable “but.” Spy was still there, after all.

“You really should kiss him now. Goodness knows the two of you have waited long enough.”

Medic wasn’t quite sure who the comment was directed to, but it didn’t matter. One of Heavy’s hands found its way to the back of his head pulled him in, pressing a kiss to his lips and oh god, but Medic was glad that he was holding on.

There was a soft chuckle in his ear. “I told you so.”

“Your accent is atrocious.”

“You do what one can with limitations of the language.”

Heavy pulled Medic’s head back to his chest before the doctor could return the barb. “Please not now.”

“Indeed. _Docteur_ , would you care to join us for a drink? We have a rather important matter to discuss.”

 


	13. Chapter 13

Medic couldn’t remember if he had ever been in Spy’s smoking room before. Certainly never at Coldfront, but at Teufort? No, he didn’t think he had. The two men had never been anything but professional associates, exchanging the normal pleasantries in public before retreating to their respective domains. Being here now felt oddly intimate, particular emphasis on the “odd” given that he had gone from literal bloodshed to having sweet nothings whispered into his ear by the man in the course of a few hours.

The walk here had been surreal, his own head having been in something of a haze. A pleasant haze, to be sure, but the initial rush of endorphins was wearing off. He remembered being gently ushered from the surgery and down the halls, but hearing the door close behind him had brought the weight of the situation back down on him.

Sitting on an oversized ottoman, Medic looked down and noticed that there was still some blood under his fingernails. He picked at it for a moment before giving up and trying to make sense of the scene around him.

Heavy was kneeling in front of the fire, slowly coaxing the fire back to life as Spy was at the bar cart behind them. There was no sign of tension in either of their postures, and Medic felt a tick of irritation at the sense of domestic normalcy about them. It hardly seemed fair for them to be busying themselves while he was here desperately wishing for something to occupy his own hands.

A weight settled next to him, still warm from the fire. “ _Doktor?_ ” Heavy’s hand settled on his shoulder, squeezing lightly. Medic didn’t look at him, but placed his hand on top of Heavy’s as if it would anchor him. Both men were still and this time it was Medic’s turn to search for the words. Heavy seemed content to wait and simply be.

“Heavy, what is this?”

It was such an inelegant turn of phrase, but he honestly couldn’t think of any other way that it could be said.

“You and Spy, I thought…”

“ _Da_. We are. I do love him”

“Then I don’t understand at all what is going on.” He leaned forward, his fingers curling into his hair as he rested his head in his hands. “What happened back there? If you… If you love him, then what was that?” Heavy’s hand slipped from Medic’s shoulder to his back. It gently rubbed small circles that the bowed man desperately wanted to respond to if he just wasn’t so confused about the whole situation.

“Because I love you.”

“You love both him and me?”

“ _Da_. Both of you.”

Medic sighed and pulled off his glasses to rub his eyes, trying to wrap his head around what Heavy had said. “But how can you say such a thing? How can you possibly say that you love both of us, and not expect me to think that this is just…” He grasped for the words, desperately not wanting to sound like he was lashing out at the other man. “How can you love two people equally?”

That large hand’s comforting weight stilled, but remained on his back. “It is not equal.” Heavy said slowly, and Medic could not help but flinch at the words. “With Spy I talk. My mind is free. The words come easy, thoughts are clear. We can talk of the things I study and have passion for.”

“And I cannot give that to you.”

Medic knew it was the truth. He hated the fact, hated himself for having a brain able to create miracle devices to heal almost any wound, but couldn’t comprehend a different alphabet.

“No. But _Doktor_ , you laugh with me, fight with me and share joy with me. I am alive with you, and would be lost without you.” Heavy reached around and turned Medic’s face so that he could meet his eyes. “With Spy I think, with you I feel. The love is not less, is not more, but different. I love both. I could not choose. For me, you are two parts that together fill my heart.”

Medic saw the emotion in Heavy’s eyes. Love mixed with fear, and Medic realized full well that the other man knew the difficulty of what he was asking. And knew how easy it would be for Medic to refuse.

“I don’t know if I can do that, Heavy.” He finally whispered. “To love anyone else, I don’t know if my heart can do such a thing.”

“You do not need to love me. You only need to love him.”

Spy quietly made his presence known, slipping past them to sit in a nearby chair. The words held none of the Frenchman’s usual bite, the softness to the tone surprising to Medic. In the surgery he had felt the smug undertone, as if Spy was congratulating himself on orchestrating the whole affair. Now his words were almost hesitant.

That fact alone almost made him feel better.

“ _Doktor_.” Heavy’s voice brought Medic back to the man in front of him. “I know what I ask is difficult. If I could be different…”

“Then you would not be the man I love.” Medic laced his fingers between Heavy’s and pulled the large hand to his chest. “For you I will try, Heavy.”

“It would, of course, be preferable that we at least tolerate each other.” Spy stood and moved towards them. “So I wish to offer my apologies for my ‘methods’ this morning. It was not my intent to hurt you as I did, so for that I am deeply sorry.”

Medic’s jaw clenched and he wanted to refuse. His pride was still sore but, as Heavy’s hand tightened in his grip, Medic realized that to refuse would hurt the man he loved more than the rogue. Spy was extending an olive branch, Heavy was offering his heart. His stubborn pride could suffer a little in exchange for that.

“I don’t think I have ever heard you say those words before.”

“And it is unlikely you shall again, _Docteur._ ” Spy snorted, the barest hint of a smile touching at the corner of his mouth.

“Then I suppose I have no choice but to accept for novelty’s sake.”

A breath escaped from Heavy, relief written on the large man’s face as he snaked an arm around Medic’s waist, pulling him close.

It was a lovely feeling. Medic rested his head against Heavy’s shoulder and smiled. Spy slipped behind them and settled on the other side of the Russian, wrapping his arm around the small of Heavy’s back.

And they sat there, three men in front of the fire, comfortable in the quiet of the afternoon.


	14. Chapter 14

Five years ago Heavy had left everything. His mother, his sisters, everything he had known remained behind in that little house nestled in the Siberian wilderness. There had been no tears when he left, none were left after the Communists. And since then that little house had sat undisturbed, hidden and secret from the world.

He missed them terribly.

He had planned to go back, but the time was never right. Mercenary work was unpredictable and contracts had to be taken when they came. The money was good, and the knowledge that they had as comfortable a life as could be found in Siberia brought him some comfort.

Ultimately it had been his only comfort. Trust was hard won in his line of work, with most men keeping their own council. Identities were stripped, names replaced by identifiers and titles. Sniper, Pyro, Scout, Heavy Weapons Guy. Arriving in Teufort had started the same way. Measure up teammates, learn their strengths and weaknesses on the field, fight like your life depended on it.

Eat, sleep, kill.

Eventually, he longed for friendship.

He had never expected love.

“You have that look on your face.” Soft leather brushed against his skin as Spy settled himself on the carpet. He nudged Heavy, scooting forward to cradle his head in his lap. “Care to share?”

Heavy looked up to meet Spy’s eyes. “I’m happy.”

Spy smiled down at him. “Is that all?”

“It’s a good summation of the moment.”

The rug on the floor of the smoking room was Turkish. High quality, as everything owned by Spy was, with a soft pile that insulated them from the cold floor. They had made a nest of blankets on top to better accommodate Heavy plus anyone else. It felt good to be laying there, warmed by roaring fire at his feet and Spy wrapped behind him. Long, thin fingers lazily wandered over his shoulders, occasionally slipping under the edges of his shirt. “Will he be joining us tonight?”

“I’m not sure.”

“Engineer said that the furnace wouldn’t be back up until tomorrow. It would be a shame to not take advantage of a room with such lovely ambiance.”

Heavy replied with a slight nod. He had asked Medic to join them when the heat first went out, knowing that his room faced into the frigid wind that had been beating down since that morning. The doctor had looked uncertain, but said he would think about it.  

At least it had not been no.

The doctor had been quiet for the few days since the events in the infirmary. Not avoiding him or Spy, but his demeanor had been subdued. Archimedes and his flock had enjoyed extra attention, and Heavy had kept his distance. Everyone processed things in their own way. Medic’s was to withdraw from the company of men. He had asked a lot; Medic was entitled to his time.

“You are worried that he will change his mind.” Spy leaned over, his hand gently stroking the other man’s face. “It is a possibility. This can be difficult for many people.”

This time Heavy did not reply. As Medic had spend these last few days in contemplation, the possibility was always in the forefront of his mind. He imagined the conversation in half a dozen ways, trying to think of all the reasons that Medic might give why it wouldn’t work and then coming up with arguments against them. They had all been scribbled into his notebook, then burned. Medic’s decision would be the final word. He loved the man too much to coerce him.

“Have there been many for you?”

Spy’s mouth twitched. “Is the number important?”

“I’m trying to determine my odds.”

His expression softening, Spy placed a kiss on Heavy’s forehead. “Very few, I’m afraid. Society is terribly prudish when it comes to this sort of thing, and for some odd reason that tends to stick with people.”

Not particularly welcome news.

The soft click of a door latch sounded behind them, and Heavy sat up to see Medic slipping into the room, quietly closing the door behind him. Heavy smiled, which seemed to put the other man at ease as he crept forward towards the blanket nest.

Heavy gently pulled Medic down into the pile. The rest of the compound must have been freezing if the doctor’s hands were any indication. Taking the edge of one of the blankets, he wrapped it up around both of them as Medic kicked off his shoes and nestled himself against Heavy with a contented sounding sigh.

Spy’s hand gripped Heavy’s shoulder and pulled him back down into his lap. He looked up and saw the smile on the rogue’s face.

“On the other hand, you could get lucky.”

 


End file.
